


Private Investigator Frankie Morales

by BlondiMarie



Series: PI!Frankie Morales [1]
Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Infidelity, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Past Drug Use, Pedro Pascal - Freform, Private Investigator Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Reader-Insert, Which prompted this dumpster fire, but not Frankie or Reader being adulterous, but not really cuz he's a PI in the original script, but they ain't gonna do anything about it, yet?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29492667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlondiMarie/pseuds/BlondiMarie
Summary: You always gave your husband the benefit of the doubt. Even when all of your friends warned you about their suspicions. So, when it came down to you telling them you weren't going to confront him about anything without proof, they took it to heart and got planning.That is how you found yourself in a crowded coffee shop during the lunch rush with your two best friends and this cute PI.
Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Original Female Character(s), Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader, Francisco "Catfish" Morales/You
Series: PI!Frankie Morales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2183709
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

You always gave your husband the benefit of the doubt. Even when all of your friends warned you about their suspicions. So, when it came down to you telling them you weren't going to confront him about anything without proof, they took it to heart and got planning. 

That is how you found yourself in a crowded coffee shop during the lunch rush. Your two best friends, Ashley and Erin, sit across from you as you all wait for the Private Investigator that they had found who knows where. Supposedly, though, he was very qualified. And prompt, you noted, as the man you assumed was here to meet you walked up to your table three minutes before the appointed time. 

"You must be my 12:30 meeting?" he asks."I'm Frankie Morales." 

"It's nice to meet you," Ashley speaks up, then goes around introducing you all. 

Frankie shakes hands with each of you before taking the empty seat next to you. In the crowded room, his chair is set close to your side and you can feel the heat of his body next to yours. He's definitely a cute guy you notice, in a rough, outdoorsy kind of way. His hair curls out from under a worn baseball cap and his facial hair is scruffy, but kept short with a patch along his jaw that doesn't seem to grow. 

“So how can I help you ladies?” he asks.

“Well it's really for our friend here,” Erin states, gesturing to you. “It's her husband. We are pretty certain he's cheating on her.” 

Frankie glances over at you. “Pretty certain, huh?” he asks as the waitress brings a cup of coffee over and places it in front of him. You find yourself suddenly distracted as he tears open two sugar packets with long, deft fingers, then picks up the spoon to stir it in. 

Realizing that he's probably waiting for an answer, you feel yourself blush faintly. “They are pretty certain. I just want to be sure either way. I don't have any specific proof that he's cheating,” you say, finally tearing your eyes away from his hands. He's thoughtlessly twisting the spoon between his index finger and thumb. It's somehow entrancing, the way his fingers move. 

“But he's definitely pretty shady,” Ashley steps in. “Suddenly he's working long hours at work, coming home late from the bars and claiming he's with his friends. Plus when is the last time he even took you out?” 

The question is pointed at you, but you ignore it by looking into your tea cup instead. It had been months since the two of you had gone on a real date. It's something you both enjoyed a lot in the early years of your relationship - going out to a new restaurant every weekend and ordering three course meals just for the fun of it. 

"Yeah, I see this shit all the time," he assures, saving you from having to answer. "If he's doing anything he shouldn't be, I'll find out." 

Your friends and him discuss his rates and when payment is due before they rush off, both having to get back to work. 

"Did you have to get going too?" Frankie asks you when it's just the two of you left at the table. 

"Not yet," you reply. 

"That's good." He ducks his head a little so you can't see his eyes anymore, "I was wondering if I could ask a few more questions. Like about your husband's schedule and where he likes to spend his time." 

“Of course. He works at an architecture company downtown. It used to be a Monday through Friday, 8 to 5 type of job. But the past few months he's been working late, sometimes he's even going in on Saturdays. Says it's some big project and he's expecting a promotion by the end of it.”

Frankie takes note of your husband's workplace on one of the tiny napkins. When he sees that you're watching him, he ducks his eyes from view again. “Forgot my notebook,” he says sheepishly.

You crack a smile at his embarrassment, but don't say anything, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. You continue on like nothing happened. “He goes out with his friends a lot, but he's always been that way. I stopped going with him a while ago. He said it brings their team spirit down when he always has to explain the game to me.”

“Not big into sports?” Frankie asks, and you can detect a bit of teasing in his tone. 

“Not even a little bit,” you laugh openly. 

Frankie makes a little bullet point on his napkin and writes, ‘X sports,’ on it. “Any specific places your husband goes to watch the games?”

“Usually Sally's, over on 7th street,” you provide. 

“Yeah, I know it. They do the karaoke after the game,” Frankie states nonchalantly. 

“Yes! That's why we agreed on that bar. I'm a sucker for bad karaoke,” you laugh. 

“You should see my friend Pope after he gets a few drinks in him,” Frankie chuckled. “Man can't even sing when he's sober, let alone drunk off his ass.”

“Those are just the best performances, though,” you say with a smile. 

“It's definitely something,” Frankie nods with a snort. 

Your phone chimes an alarm, alerting you off your next meeting you need to get to. "I'm sorry, I actually do have to go now," you apologize, actually feeling sorry that you had to leave this conversation. Frankie is easy to talk to, and an attentive listener. 

"Oh, right. Well maybe I could get your number? Ya know, just in case I have any other questions as I go?" Frankie asks quietly, dipping his head again and fiddling with his long-empty coffee cup. 

"Of course!" You agree readily, taking his offered phone and adding your details into his contacts. "And thank you again for doing this. It may end up being nothing, but my friends are very overzealous."

"It's not a problem. Just doing my job. I'll let you know what I come up with either way," Frankie replies with a small smile. 

As you walk out together, he holds the door open for you and your turn to him once you both come out onto the sidewalk. "Does it often end up ending well? For people you've looked into in the past..." you ask.

Frankie squints a little and his eyes show flecks of warm caramel in the sunshine. "Not often," he replies finally. 

You nod, your heart dropping faintly. His honesty is appreciated though, so you grace him with a small smile. "Thank you again."

You don't hear from Frankie for the next few days, but you do think of him. Especially any time your husband does something that makes your gut do that little tug of dread. 

It's five days later that you get a text. 

**_Game night tonight. Did your husband happen to say if he was going out?_ ** Frankie asks. 

You reply maybe a bit too quickly,  **_of course he is. He's leaving here soon to meet up with the guys._ **

You feel a little less self conscious when it's barely a second later and Frankie is already typing back.  **_Well let's hope that's where he'll actually be._ **

**_He'd never miss a game XD,_ ** you reply.  **_Sports are like religion to those guys. So you get to just go to the bar and watch them watch the game? Sounds fun hah._ **

**_No one ever said it was a glamorous job,_ ** Frankie sent.  **_But it's always a perk when I can drink and watch some football while I'm at it._ **

You send back some laughing emojis, and set your phone down to heat up some dinner. 

Your husband sweeps through the kitchen, grabbing his keys and jacket. “I'm meeting the guys now,” he says.

“Ok, have a good time,” you reply, turning to face him. He nods, pulling on a hat. “I love you.”

“You too,” he replies briskly, dropping a faint kiss on your forehead and walking out the door. 

You sigh, plating your food and wandering back to the living room to watch something on TV while you ate. 

Your phone flashes a notification and you look down to see Frankie had sent another text. 

**_How have you been doing?_ ** _ He asks.  _

**_As well as can be expected,_ ** _ you text back. _

**_Try not to stress too much. I'll let you know if I find anything out,_ ** he replies. 

It makes you smile, even if you know there's no way you'll stop stressing at this point.    
  


The weeks went by and texts from Frankie became more frequent. He'd ask a few questions about your husband, then branch off into asking about your day. Those conversations then opened up to you both telling stories about your jobs, which would lead to talking about other aspects of your life. You talked a lot about your pasts - he tells you about how he grew up, some funny and interesting stories from his time in Delta Force, and about his best friend's MMA fights. 

You tell him about your family, tell him stories about all the ridiculous people you come across at your job, and do a lot of venting about your crumbling marriage and husband. 

You feel bad every time you bring it up, but it's always so much easier to talk to Frankie than it is even Ashley and Erin. At least with him, each of your concerns weren't met with a look of pity and “I told you so,” retort. 

The marriage has been spiraling for several months now, and maybe hiring a private investigator was the push you needed to really bring the issues to light. You noticed more often when your husband chose to spend nights out “with the guys” and when he'd go into the other room to check his phone. And when you finally point out the lack of time he spends with you anymore, he gets automatically defensive. 

You felt alone in your relationship and it was starting to make you feel bitter. He was definitely hiding something, and you trusted that Frankie would find out for you. 

* * *

Frankie had been working this job for a few weeks now. He'd worked a ton of infidelity investigations since he'd lost his pilot license and finally got clean. But this one was different. He wasn't sure what drew him to her, but he couldn't help but want to know her. 

Was it professional to text your client every day asking her if Sally from the overnight shift left a pile of work behind for her to deal with for the fourth day in a row? Probably not. But that didn't stop him from trying to glean any little piece of information about her that he could. 

He kept it friendly, though, trying not to cross farther from that line between client and something more. But she was a sweet woman, and she had seemed so quiet at that first meeting in the coffee shop. And sad. Like she didn't want to get caught up in the things her friends were saying, but somewhere deep down knew what they were saying was true.

And, dammit, Frankie always had a soft spot for sweet, sad women. 

Which is why he is spending his seventh night in a row sitting in his car across the street from her husband's workplace. During their earlier conversation she had mentioned that her husband claimed he was working late tonight. But in the weeks that Frankie had been on this case, the man never worked late once. 

Right on time, his target exited the building. He was not alone this time, though, having his arm around a brunette that Frankie recognized as one of his co-workers that he had gone to lunch with a couple times. 

Frankie snapped a few pictures of them together, the target’s arm pulling the brunette closer than appropriate, in Frankie's opinion. They both got into his car and Frankie began to follow behind. 

Just as they parked at some restaurant across town, Frankie's phone rings and Benny's name lights up the screen. 

“Hey,” Frankie greets. 

“Dude, where are you?” Benny asks, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual. 

“I'm working,” Frankie replied, keeping a close watch as his target is sat conveniently at a window table. 

“Come on, Fish, it's Friday night! Will and I are already at the bar drinking.”

Frankie checks the clock and scoffs a bit when he sees it's only 1830. “Sorry, Benny, but I have to work late tonight.”

“You make your own hours. Isn't that why you chose that damned job? So you can decide when you do and don't work. So just decide you can't work tonight and get your ass over here!” Benny all but whines. “What's the deal with this case, Fish? I thought it was a simple cheating husband. You're not usually so obsessive over these ones.” 

  
  


And leave it to Benny to call him out on his abnormal behavior. “I'm gonna close this case tonight, I have a feeling. Sorry, brother, but I'll see you tomorrow afternoon for practice,” Frankie placates his best friend. 

  
  


“Sure, ok man. See ya then,” Benny finally gives in. 

It's another boring hour of staring at his target before they are finally on the move again. Back to what Frankie assumes is the brunette's house, where they both go inside and Frankie adjusts himself in his seat to find a comfy position for the foreseeable future. 

It's another two hours later when the door finally opens and Frankie scrambles to get his camera up, keeping his head down. He hopes for a little luck and is rewarded when both parties enter the doorway and embrace with a final, passionate kiss. 

Frankie's camera keeps clicking away, even as his anger continues to rise. He has to hold himself back from throwing himself out of the car and punching his target in the face. He wants to know why her husband would bother with another woman when he has her at home waiting. Wants to know why her husband would throw away everything he has with the sweet woman who was so trusting at the start of all this. But that would definitely be crossing a line, and Frankie has never felt the need to go that far before. So he reins himself and waits until the target has driven away and the brunette has closed the door behind her, before he drives home himself to develop the pictures and complete his paperwork. 

Developing pictures at home can be time consuming, but Frankie usually finds comfort in the task. It's a hobby he took up to distract himself from his cravings, and the darkroom usually brings him comfort after particularly stressful days. Tonight, though, watching these images fade onto the photo paper, he is angry. He knows this news is going to crush her, regardless of her suspicions. And while this is usually the case with clients, Frankie isn't sure that he could handle it if you broke down in front of him as some women have in the past. 

He's learned so much about her in the past few weeks, from her favorite color to her favorite song when she was 10, and all of these things have endeared her to him in a way no other person has before. And he's opened up to her in return; in a way he hasn't any other woman in his past. But she makes it easy. 

It's late when Frankie has finished compiling the file, so he decides not to text her yet and strips down for bed and drifts off, hoping for at least a few hours of restful, dreamless sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

You got a text from Frankie late the next morning,  **_hey, dulzura. What are your plans today?_ **

**_Finally my day off lol,_ ** you text back. 

**_Think you could pencil me into your busy schedule? Say in an hour?_ **

Frankie had yet to schedule another meeting, opting to ask any questions he had between texts about their days. With a sinking feeling, you quickly type out,  **_definitely. How about the same café as before?_ **

**_Sounds good. I'll see you then._ **

You got ready with a sense of dread. You knew that this meant Frankie had found something. There was that small chance that he came up with nothing in these past few weeks, but the more realistic side of you knew how this would end. 

The drive to the coffee shop was short, and the parking lot was thankfully much less crowded than last time. Walking in, you spotted Frankie right away at the same table by the windows. You placed your order before heading over to the table. He was stirring a cup of coffee again, but quickly turned his whole focus toward you as you sag across from him. 

“Hey, how are you doing?” Frankie asked. “Your friends couldn't make it?”

“I'm good. It's nice to see you again,” you answered. “I actually didn't tell them. I kinda wanted to find out the truth privately. I'll tell them as soon as I've processed whatever you have to tell me. I'm assuming that's why you wanted to meet? You found what we were looking for?”

Frankie's hand moves to the back of his neck as he gives a slow nod. He pulls a yellow envelope from the chair next to him and places it on the table between you. “Yeah. I have some pictures here.”

You begin to reach out, but stop short before touching the folder. You know if you look now, in the middle of this café, you'll just break down when you see the proof of your husband's affair. 

“Please just tell me,” you implore, eyes looking up, but not quite reaching his. 

Frankie is quiet for a moment, studying you with his chocolate eyes. Finally he lets out a short sigh and responds, “Andrew's having an affair with a coworker. Looks like it's been around five months.”

The news hits you directly in the chest. It makes it hard to breathe. Knowing it was likely that he was cheating and having picture proof of it are two different things. You feel like it shouldn't hurt this much, but can't help the way your body collapses into itself. 

“I know it's not the news you wanted,” Frankie starts, but you cut him off. 

“No, but it's what I needed to know. So thank you. I appreciate all the work you put into it. I'm really sorry, but Ashley just went out of town and she won't be back for two weeks. I can get Erin's half of your fee, then get the rest as soon as Ash is back.” You quickly switch to the business end of the meeting, hoping to delay having to come to terms with this new information. 

Frankie looks a little whiplashed at the sudden change in topic, but catches up quickly. “It's really not a big deal. I'm not too worried about two weeks. How about we just meet up again once you all have everything together. No stress.” 

His hands are fiddling with his coffee cup again, and you focus on them as one index finger absently caresses the handle of the cup, the thumb of his other hand moving up and down the opposite side of it. You're caught off guard again by the movement of his fingers. It's sensual, how his large hands and long fingers massage the warm ceramic. 

You're distracted from your observation of those hands when the barista sets your to-go tea in front of you. Finally looking up again, you see Frankie's brows have pinched together, forming a little worry line between them. 

“I'll get it to you as soon as possible,” you finally fall back into conversation. 

“That's fine. Really, don't stress about it,” Frankie reiterates. 

“Can I ask you something?” You ask softly after a brief pause. 

“Of course, hermosa.”

“Why did you become a private investigator?”

The question catches Frankie off guard for a second time; you can tell by the subtle widening of his eyes followed by a brief knitting of his brows. Then he quickly hides his eyes behind the bill of his baseball cap, feigning stirring his coffee a couple times. Not used to being able to see his face when the two of you have conversations, you realized he's actually quite expressive. He must know it too, because you note his hidden eyes as something you'd seen him do the first time you met him. 

“You don't have to tell me,” you extended a way out for him, noting his sudden discomfort. 

“No, it's fine. Um, remember when I told you before how I moved on from being a pilot to this?” At your nod, Frankie continued on slowly, like he was forming each word in his head twice before speaking it. “Well, it was less that I moved on and more that I lost my license. Uh, addiction issues. I know how that sounds! But I swear I'm clean now and -”

You can sense Frankie spiraling, so you impulsively reach out and place one of your hands on his large one. “You don't have to plead your case with me, Frankie. I'm not judging you.”

Frankie freezes momentarily, then relaxes. You feel one of his long fingers twitch on the tabletop under yours and quickly remove your hand. There's a little sigh from him before he continues, “well, anyway, this was kinda just something that fell in my lap. My friend, Ironhead, works with enlisted still and heard it's pretty easy to get into if you have the background and patience for sittin’ around and waiting. Well, I had the experience with my past in Delta Force, figured the patients would come along as I go. Never did like surveillance gigs.”

The last sentence seems like an afterthought, but you catch the mild disdain in his voice and it makes you smile to see the man in front of you sounding so petulant. “Ok, but Ironhead is an interesting name,” you comment.

Frankie huffed a laugh. “His call-sign actually. Most of us had one on my squad.” 

“Oh really? And what was yours?” 

“Catfish,” Frankie responds immediately. 

“Catfish?” You repeat. “Where did that one come from?” you laugh a little bit. 

“And that's a story for a different day,” Frankie responds with a laugh of his own. 

After another small pause, your eyes drift back down to the inconspicuous envelope sitting on the table in front of you. With another small smile and a nod, you reach for the envelope. “I better get going. Lots of errands to get through on my day off.” It's a lie, but you figure a swift exit is necessary in this moment. 

Frankie nods, then shifts his hat to run a hand through his already messy curls. Hat back in place, he stands and gestures that he'll walk you out. 

Back outside, in the bright afternoon sun, Frankie looks down at you as he walks you all the way to your car. His eyes are caramel again, but they hold a bit of something akin to sadness in them. He drops his head, those eyes disappearing behind the bill of his cap, and slides his hands into his pockets, shoulders curving inward. “I really am sorry,” he begins. “I had hoped it would be different this time. You deserve better than some cabrón who can't see that he already has something great right in front of him.”

Frankie sounds so sincere that it stops you short. You look up at him as he peeks from under his hat. His mouth is twisted into a frown under his mustache. And that's all it takes for your eyes to begin to fill with tears. 

In an instant, Frankie's arms are around you. He doesn't hesitate to pull you into a loose hug. One you could easily step away from if you had the care to do so. Instead, you step forward and accept the comfort. In a second, his arms close around you tighter and you're wrapped in his warmth, face pressed into his brown jacket. Trying not to fall apart right here in the parking lot, you catalog how his arms feel around you, and how warm his chest is. 

His jacket smells like an auto garage, faintly like oil, but his shirt underneath smells woodsy - probably whatever cologne he sprayed on this morning - and, underneath that, clean like fresh linen. It's a comforting scent, and you breathe it in for a second longer than probably necessary before you finally lean back. He drops his arms immediately and takes half a step back. 

“I am so sorry,” you apologize instantly. 

“No, don't be. You have no reason to be. Just, um, get home safe ok?” That worry line is present between his eyes again. “Text me when you get home.”

“I'll be ok,” you assure him. You climb into your car and allow him to close the door gently for you. He steps back and gives a tiny wave before he turns and walks over to his own truck. 

The drive home is a bit of a blur. You call Erin and Ashley on the way to tell them the news. Erin is instantly in her car and on her way over. “We are gonna change the locks and have ourselves a movie night,” she proclaims. 

Ashley frets over not being there, but you assure her you're okay and she should enjoy her vacation. You only called because she'd freak if you told Erin before her. 

Erin gets to your house 30 minutes later with a box of cheap wine and a bag full of snacks. You talk her out of changing the locks, but it doesn't matter either way because when you text Andrew to tell him you're having a girls night he tells you he's going to be out late anyway and not to wait up. 

Your heart drops the way it always does when you suspect a lie. This time, though, it's not just speculation. You have the proof right in front of you, in an unopened manila envelope partially covered in chip bags. 

“So is that them?” Erin speaks, noticing your gaze on the offending envelope. 

“I guess so. Pictures and proof of my husband's affair with some front desk girl at his office.” Your tone is mild, but you feel a pressure building behind your eyes once more and that crushing weight settling over your sternum. 

“Have you looked yet?” Erin asked. 

“Nope.”

“Are you gonna?”

“We can open them together,” you suggest. 

But before she can answer, your phone beeps to alert you that you got a new text message. 

**_Hey, bonita, is everything ok? You never texted me… You safe?_ **

His words bring a small smile to your face. Frankie always has a way of making you feel like he truly cares. Checking in often, but never overstepping into being overbearing. It's a warm welcome compared to the icy breeze of you and your husband's cohabitation of the same home, but never really living together. 

You type out,  **_yes. Sorry. Erin insisted on a girls night,_ ** and hit send. 

**_That's good. Did she bring the salsa verde doritos?_ **

Your smile grows at the mention of your favorite chips. Of course he'd remember something as silly as that. Frankie had a knack for remembering little details. Things you sometimes even forgot to had ever mentioned he would bring up weeks later in a random conversation. It's probably just a Frankie Morales thing, but it still always made you feel just a little special that he remembered such details. 

“What has you suddenly shining like the sun?” Erin questions with a raised eyebrow. 

“Nothing,” you know you're blushing, but you try to play it cool. “Just Frankie checking in. Making sure you're taking care of me.”

“Um, of course I'm taking care of you! Who else is gonna do it?” Erin jokes, pushing your shoulder teasingly. “Unless Mr. Morales was trying to volunteer for the job?”

“He's just being kind,” you roll your eyes at Erin's implication. “He's been very supportive through this whole thing.”

“Supportive, huh? And what kind of support might he be offering?” In a swift motion your phone is suddenly in your best friends hands and she's danced off to the other side of the room. Ignoring your protests and attempts to claim back your property, she starts swiping through weeks of conversation between you and Frankie. “Holy shit! Have you two even stopped talking since you met?”

“Come on, Erin,” you beg, “he’s just been asking for more information for his investigation and making sure I'm okay.”

“Two days ago you told him about the goldfish you got in college that died within the week. Was that pertinent information to his investigation?”

Seizing an opportunity, you snatched your phone back, clutching it to your chest. “Shouldn't you be trying to cheer me up?”

“Looks like your new bestie Frankie should be here instead,” she snarks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Oh shut it and pour me some wine,” you reply with an exaggerated eye roll. 

While your friend is busy you quickly type out a response to Frankie.  **_She's pretty much the worst. Brought bbq instead even though she knows I hate them._ **

Frankie's reply is quick,  **_or maybe that's why she brought them. So she wouldn't have to share with you, avara._ **

**_I don't know what you just called me, but I know I'm offended._ **

Frankie's reply is a long string of laughing emojis. 

With the photos forgotten, you let Erin put on some 80’s movie and tried your best to enjoy the night. The envelope would still be there tomorrow, so for tonight you just relax. 

It will probably be the last time you'll be able to in a while anyway. 

  
  


Frankie hasn't heard from her in a few days. She doesn't text as often and it doesn't feel like his place to bother her. 

Today, though, he woke up late after being out late on a surveillance job to a text from her.  **_I'm kicking him out. I can't stand to live here with him anymore. I just want him gone and out of my life._ **

Squinting down at the bright screen if his phone, Frankie replies,  **_is there anything I can do for you, bonita?_ **

**_Recommend me a great divorce lawyer?_ ** Is her response. He knows it's sarcasm, but he shoots her a list of a few lawyers he knows of and trusts anyway. 

Frankie was glad she wasn't going to stick around with the bastard. He'd seen that enough times to know it never works out anyway, and always makes things worse in the end. 

**_You're amazing Frankie. Thank you for everything. I also have your payment in full btw. Do you have time this weekend to meet and grab it?_ **

**_You really don't need to thank me, dulzura. I just want to help. This Sunday is good for me. At the café?_ **

Her reply takes a little longer this time, so Frankie finally drags himself out of bed. A quick look at the time tells him he barely has time for a shower before he has to meet Ironhead and Benny for their planned fishing trip. Once Frankie is back, she had finally replied with a simple,  **_yes._ **

She had rarely been short in her texts before, and it made Frankie's stomach sink a little. Shooting off a quick,  **_let me know if there's anything you need,_ ** he pockets the phone and heads out. 

A few more days pass with minimal texts. Frankie makes a point to text at least once a day. Maybe it's intrusive, but she never complains about it. And, if he's honest with himself, he misses her too much to stop now. 

He realizes that she has become a fixture in his life. Going from texting multiple times throughout the day to barely a good morning text over his morning coffee makes him twitchy and he feels like he's always wondering what she's doing. 

Sunday finally comes and Frankie is at the café ten minutes early, ready to finally see her in person. Ready to hold a conversation with her, even if only for a moment. But the ten minutes pass, then another ten and his leg starts to bounce under the table. She's never been late before, and Frankie checks his phone for a 20th time to make sure she hasn't texted to tell him she's had a change of plans. He decides to shoot her a text himself to make sure she didn't forget about their meeting. 

Twenty more minutes with no response to his text and Frankie is back in his truck. He's already talked himself out of driving to her house and just knocking on the door several times. But as his truck rumbles to life and he exits the parking lot, he ends up turning left instead of right. Going to her house would be viewed as crossing some line in Frankie's eyes. He's never gone to a clients home without invitation before. Generally it's best to go about as if you don't even have that information, just to keep people from getting creeped out. 

Frankie justifies his actions now by telling himself he just needs to see that she's okay. That her not showing up is abnormal and thus deserving of investigation. 

When he pulls up to the curb across from her house, he notes the two cars in the driveway. His heart drops as he sees that one of them is her husband’s, parked neatly behind hers. Frankie knows she had told him she was kicking Andrew out, but his heart drops as he realizes maybe she had reconciled with him and he moved back. Frankie wonders if that's why she had been so distant lately. 

He's about to just pull away when he notices the front door open and there she is. She has her arms full of boxes which she unceremoniously drops onto the sidewalk outside. She looks frazzled, but unharmed, Frankie takes a mental note. But she's yelling back into the house, her face red with anger. 

Andrew shows himself in that moment, coming outside to scream something in her face. In the next moment, he's grabbing her roughly by the arm and trying to force her back into the house. 

Frankie is out of his truck before he really has time to think. He's across the street and reaching them with quick, efficient steps in only a moment, which causes a pause in the fighting for a second. Frankie takes advantage of their confusion to gently pull her away from Andrew's loosened grip and moving her so that he is between the fighting couple. 

Andrew, for his part, still has a look of surprise that has rendered him frozen in his spot. Whether that's from the way Frankie had barged into the situation or the pure anger that is radiating off Frankie's body, it's hard to say. But it gives Frankie the window he needs to pull back his fist and firmly plant it into Andrew's nose. Frankie hears the snap and feels the familiar give of a nose breaking under his knuckles. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” he growls. “And I suggest not coming back around. Don't come near her, don't call her, don't even think about her.”

  
  
  


Once Andrew has run off, finally taking the remainder of his belongings with him, you're left alone with an angry Frankie, his fists still clenched and his shoulders tense. 

Honestly, he's sexy as hell and you definitely notice. Anybody would be blind not to, you think to yourself. 

You usher him inside, through to your kitchen, and pour two glasses of whiskey, sliding one over to him. 

“I'm sorry I barged in,” Frankie apologizes after he takes a large gulp of his drink. “I didn't hear from you today and wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“Shit, your money! I am so sorry.”

“It's fine, hermosa. I'm not worried about the money. I was worried about you.”

His declaration freezes both of you for a moment, before you lift your own cup to your lips and take a sizable sip. 

“He was supposed to come by while I was out today, but he showed up early. I guess he's been trying to get ahold of me,” you finally break the silence. 

“You guess?” Frankie repeats back. 

“Well, I blocked his number cuz I got tired of his constant calls and texts. He thinks I'm being irrational and we should work this out. But I've also heard that he's been staying with his side piece ever since I kicked him out, so….” 

Frankie shoots back the rest of his alcohol. “I can get you paperwork for a restraining order,” he offers. 

You smile at that because of course Frankie would offer you more help. “I think you already did enough for me,” you reply. 

Frankie's hand goes to the back of his neck and his head dips low, “I shouldn't have hit him. That's just gonna cause you more trouble.”

“Don't worry about that,” you chastise gently. “He got what was coming to him and he knows it. It's just that, you have done a lot for me in general these past few weeks. A lot more than I think I can pay you back for.” Speaking of which, you turn to your purse on the counter, digging through it to pull out the check written out to Frankie. 

“Maybe you can pay me back with dinner,” Frankie aims for nonchalants. 

It draws a breathy laugh from your throat. “It would take a lot of dinners to cover your fee.”

“Well, we could start with one and see where it goes from there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have ideas floating around for PI!Frankie, but that's all for this story. If people are interested I might get some of my other ideas together and continue on with these two.
> 
> This really was supposed to just be a tiny little one-shot haha. But I hope that what it evolved into was something enjoyable. Thank you for reading and please let me know what you thought 💜 💜 💜

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so it's been a really really really long time since I've written anything at all! But I watched Triple Frontier (finally), then did some digging and found the original script which is now living rent free in my brain! I literally could not get over the idea that they had planned Frankie's back story as him being some sort of PI?? So I wrote down some thoughts, which turned into a full headcannon, which evolved into a one-shot, which I have divided into two parts now 😅. 
> 
> Please please let me know what you think! Like I said, it's been a long time since I've written anything so feedback is so much appreciated. If anyone reads this at all lol.


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